Play On
by amyxaphania
Summary: Spike's been planning something, but it's not the romantic surprise Buffy had hoped for. Post-series.


**A/N:**Thank you to dusty273 for the beta read, and to ladychi for looking it over. This is set about a year after NFA, during the 2006 World Cup. I don't know much about football and I don't remember watching this match - so all my info came from Wikipedia. Hope you enjoy! Oh - and number seven was David Beckham. :)

**Play On (AKA Bloody Football!)**

All that planning, all that secrecy, had been for _this_?

The clandestine meetings with Xander, the big box that had been delivered the week before, the mysterious glances shared with Giles… Buffy had thought Spike was planning something special. Something romantic, even.

It had been exactly a year since they had reunited and decided to make a go of it, and things were good. They'd settled in Cleveland; a year of living the life of the spoiled and pampered in Rome had been enough for Buffy, and after she and Spike had gotten back together, they decided that a Hellmouth–even a small, barely active one–was the place to be. Her friends had gravitated back slowly but surely and now, it almost felt like old times.

_Oh yes_, she thought, staring at the gigantic monster now taking up most of their living room, _just like old times._

"Spike!"

It took a few moments for him to respond, and when he did, his tone was wary. "Yeah?"

"What is this and why is it in my living room?" Hands on her hips, she turned to face him as he slunk into the room, a slightly sheepish look on his face.

"Now, love, don't–"

"And this!" She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the kitchen, gesturing at the counter. "What's all this?"

"Beer." Spike replied, succinctly, pointing to the items in question. "Lots and lots of beer."

"I can see that," Buffy replied, eyes flashing dangerously. "But why is there so much of it and why is it here and _what_ are you wearing?"

Spike glanced down at his shirt, the bright red of the fabric making him look even paler than normal. He started to reply, only to be saved by the ringing of the doorbell. "I'll get it!"

He left Buffy standing open mouthed, surrounded by bottles of beer and various snack items, wondering what on earth was going on.

* * *

An hour and a half later, she wished she hadn't asked. She picked half-heartedly at the bowl of breadsticks on the counter, trying to block out the sound of constant cheering and heckling from the other room.

This was _not_ what she'd expected from today.

The sound of a whistle blowing echoed through the house, amplified through the huge speakers of the ginormous new television set seemingly bought specifically for the occasion– the World Cup, a soccer tournament she hadn't even known _existed_ until an hour ago.

Moments later, Spike bounded into the kitchen, huge smile on his face. He planted a kiss to her cheek and gathered several more bottles of beer into his arms. "All right, love?"

She nodded noncommittally, snapping the end of her breadstick off and crumbling it in her hands.

"You should come watch," Spike said. "Nil-nil but a bloody good game so far. Rooney and Becks are on fine form."

Buffy rolled her eyes, pout on her face. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Buffy? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she replied. "Just, you know, kinda pissed that you thought a soccer–oh, I'm sorry, _football_–party with the 'lads' is the right way to celebrate our anniversary."

Spike's eyes widened and he dropped the beer back onto the counter, running a hand through his hair before he spoke. "Buffy, bloody hell. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well." She frowned. "No big deal, right? We're like the king and queen of unconventional; I should have known that our anniversary wouldn't go well."

"Bollocks." Spike frowned as the cheering in the other room started up again. Half-time over. He moved to close the door before hurrying back to Buffy's side. "God, pet, I don't know what to say. I didn't realise… I'll make it up to you, I swear. Send them all home and we'll have ourselves a nice evening, yeah?"

Buffy sighed. "No, you finish watching the game… I think Giles would turn all evil-Ripper on me if I kicked him out now. But you're gonna be grovelling later, mister!"

"Grovelling, check." Spike nodded. "Why don't you come watch the rest of the match with us? Rupert'd appreciate it, I'm sure. Always says he doesn't see enough of you these days. And it'd be nice, you there with me."

She nodded, smiling a little as she allowed him to lead her back into the living room, where she perched herself on his lap, focus on the TV screen, men in tiny shorts running around the large pitch. As she slipped her hand into his, she knew the perfect way to get back at him.

"Ooh, nice legs on number seven!"

-END-


End file.
